He - She

Story of a Painful First Marriage.

 he was a lonely hurt horny boy.

he was away at college, studying.

she was the middle girl, living with parents.

she wanted freedom, attention.

 

he got the call late at night.

he lay down his books, innocent.

she took her father’s car, headed east.

she didn’t know the way, a lost girl.

 

he promised to come with money.

he hung up with visions of honey.

she was out of gas, penniless.

she got her way at the truck stop, flirting.

 

he borrowed a car and $20, drove away.

he faced 90 miles of backwoods Ozark road.

she found a truck driver to buy her supper.

she met a christian couple to wait with her.

 

he ran out of gas with 1/4 tank showing.

he left the car half in the lane, 

        headed for the only distant light he could see.

she was disappointed to be chaperoned.

she slept in a warm camper in the parking lot.

 

he didn’t know the temperature was near 0 degrees

   had only a light jacket, foolish.

   stumbled down a pitch dark gravel one lane, falling.

   fought panic, hands bleeding, kept moving.

   was surprised at the distance to the light, 

        a chicken house.

he looked beyond to a small house with roofed porch,

        dark, ominous. 

   kicked at the door, hands numb, ears knives of pain.

   could only yell “help,” dizzy, crazy.

   fell to his knees as the door opened 

        by a tall blond man with 

        plaid wool coat, lantern, and rifle.

   heard the man yell back into the house 

        and a female answer, in a foreign language.

   was led to a pot belly stove nearly cooled down.

   couldn’t stop tears, fears, or shakes.

   took off his loafers and watched puddles form 

        on the worn gray linoleum.

 

he watched the man put on kindling and a log, 

        and pour water into a pot on top.

   watched the man sit on a stool, 

        and ask in a high pitched voice, “who you?”

   wasted too many words till he 

        thought to say “need petrol.”

 

he listened to an emotional interchange, 

        a door open and close, 

        boxes scrape in the other room.

   watched the man open a box of rags and

        tie one around his head and over his ears.

   understood, and took the rag nodding and thanking.

   sipped thick black oily stove top coffee from 

        a small, chipped ceramic mug.

   watched his watch being considered for trade, 

        rejected, returned.

   hid his relief.

 

he followed out the front door still 

        unsure if he was to get gas.

   placed his rag-wrapped feet, 

        bound with binding twine carefully 

        on new fallen fine snow.

   helped beat a frozen hose to get gas to 

        gravity-flow from a 100 gallon tank on stilts 

        in the yard beside a three wheel tractor 

        with white frozen burlap seat.

   thanked the man’s unfriendly back, guilty.

 

he began to count his steps setting goals 

   sat the open one gallon bucket down as 

        his hands hurt 

        through the rag-wrapped wire handle. 

        pain mixed with hope.

   stuffed the rag and broken string from one 

        foot-binding in his pocket and 

        tried to jog without spilling more.

   tried to still his shaking hands, 

        pruned with gas and swollen with pain 

        to create a funnel torn from a box in the trunk.

 

he put his rag-wrapped head on the steering wheel 

        and let himself really cry when 

        the battery began to go weak.

   raised the hood, removed the air filter, 

        primed the carburetor, 

        all by feel in the pitch dark.

   cried again when the engine fired 

        and the rpm’s leveled off.

 

he thanked God the heater worked,

        shock setting in
   fought sleep, yanking back from the ditch

   began to see lights from the highway in 

        what seemed only a few minutes.

 

he went straight to the truck stop cashier,

        no knowledge of his girlfriend.

   walked all through the restaurant,

        anger and disappointment

        in equal measures.

   finally called the number she’d given him.

   watched the cashier answer, look for messages,

        then tell him to look for the camper

        in the parking lot.

 

she was laughing, 

        playing cards with an older couple.

she looked radiant, fresh, damn her.

he saw her study him with serious reservations.

he listened to plans already made.

 

she said daddy’s on the way,

        almost there, to pick up car,

        and her

sat in his car complaining of the gas smell,

        no sympathy.

he put up with daddy’s disdain,

        the b*****d.

he slept an hour before starting

        the long trip back to school.

 

Epilogue:

he gave in to her persuasion and 

        married her the next summer

he believed and trusted her, foolish.

she escaped home and

        cheated on him the first month.

she took no alimony in the divorce, but

        expected him to pay the lawyer.

 

he was nineteen years old.

he occasionally still feels the cold pain 

        over 40 years later in fingers, ears, toes, 

        and heart.

Reviews

[Stacey Watts]

Very well written. I could feel the pain of mistakes made when a person is young. I think we all feel those mistakes at times. Excellent job.